L'Amour Looks Something Like You
by xxbeyondxbirthdayxx
Summary: Paris under the snow, in winter. Mail didn't expect to be abducted after work. Neither did he expect his abductor to be a Mafia boss his age, clueless, scared, and in love. Even less did he expect to be released. So why coming back? A bedtime fairytale...
1. Chapter 1

_**Note:** It was supposed to be a oneshot, a modern fairytale that I wanted to post as a present for my faithful readers on Valentines Day. But it's already 10 500 words long, and I'm only at the half of it I think (just because I can't help it but be really introspective with my characters), so with the advice of some of you, I decided to post it as a multichaptered fic, because I can understand that a 20k words oneshot is a bit too much to read in one go.  
>It will be less than 10 chapters. And this time it's not an underestimation like for TSFMS XD<br>_  
><em>I began to write this because I had barely used Paris in one of my previous oneshots (Counting Scars) and wanted to write something that would happen in a place I know really well. And because there were things I can't write for TSFMS or Stockholm Syndrome (the co-authoring with Dlvvanzor) so I wanted to use them here.<br>_  
><em>I had this image of Paris in winter, under the snow, dark and peaceful nights, and a Mello that's further in the duality of his personality, the cold Mafia boss that's just a lost boy inside, clueless about people that are not his underlings, and even more clueless when he faces his own feelings. A very Russian Mello, full of the beauty of his origins.<br>Read it as a fairytale, a (I hope!) heart-warming little story just before bedtime. Yeah, if I could, I'd sing you a Russian lullaby to go with it, and kiss you goodnight ^^_

* * *

><p><em><em>Святая ночь на небосклон взошла,<br>И день отрадный, день любезный  
>Как золотой покров она свила,<br>Покров, накинутый над бездной.__

И как виденье, внешний мир ушел...  
>И человек, как сирота бездомный,<br>Стоит теперь, и немощен и гол,  
>Лицом к лицу пред пропастию темной.<p>

_На самого себя покинут он —_  
><em>Упразднен ум, и мысль осиротела —<em>  
><em>В душе своей, как в бездне, погружен,<em>  
><em>И нет извне опоры, ни предела...<em>  
><em>И чудится давно минувшим сном<em>  
><em>Ему теперь все светлое, живое...<em>  
><em>И в чуждом, неразгаданном, ночном<em>  
><em>Он узнает наследье роковое.<em>

_The sacred night has scaled the sky and rolled_  
><em>The day of cheer, the day of graciousness<em>  
><em>Up and away like a great golden shroud:<em>  
><em>A shroud, spread over an abyss.<em>

_The outer world is over like a vision,_  
><em>As Man, a homeless orphan, takes his place<em>  
><em>In naked helplessness to stand alone<em>  
><em>Before the big black of unfathomed space.<em>

_He is abandoned to his very self._  
><em>His mind is orphaned, thought is nullified.<em>  
><em>He plummets through the fissure of his soul<em>  
><em>With no support or limit from outside.<em>  
><em>As all things of the living and the light<em>  
><em>Seem but a dream to him, a dream long past,<em>  
><em>In the unsolved, the strange, the very night,<em>  
><em>He feels a fateful heritage at last.<em>

_**The Sacred Night**_  
><em>Fyodor Tyutchev<em>

The counter was busy, and only glimpses of that fiery hair appeared between customers. As much as he mentally willed the backsides away, the neverending flow took the oh-so-wanted vision off limits.

Not that the man hadn't had a full view of that beautiful person already. Not that it was enough anyway. Maybe, just maybe, if he could see those eyes again, he'd gather the courage to enter the store and get what he wanted.

But even if there's not much you can't get, when you're who the man is, he doubted that he could be convincing in such an area. One that he wasn't familiar with. If there were no guns, no threatening involved, he was clueless.  
>So he gave a faint hand signal to the two underlings framing him, turned on his heels and slid out of the little mall like he's never been there, hooded like a ghost.<br>"Get him for me." he whispered in that cold tone that left no margin for questioning. On that, the guards were gone, the black Cadillac's door shutting on the man, as they walked back on their tracks in the mall again.  
>The car drove away. Minutes later, it was back, lightened of its backseat passenger.<p>

* * *

><p>It's no good wanting some fresh air when you're at the head of one of the widest criminal organisations in the world. If not a possible target, you just don't easily blend in. Especially when you adorn the face of your exploits. Moreover when your shadow is a double mountain of muscles dressed in black.<p>

The man loved the City of Lights. Here, in Paris, he was more invisible than anywhere else. He could, sometimes, decide to quit the ritual procession and get some alone time outside.

It was always so busy, anywhere he went. Just like big cities always are. But just like each big city, this one had its particularities. People were always so different from one place to another.  
>Here, they never seemed to smile, swallowed in their routine, always late, always annoyed by this or that. They simply never looked happy. They were rude, bad mannered, vulgar even. And dirty. So dirty. You always had to look where you put your feet.<br>Except for a few. The foreigners. Not particularly foreign to the country, but to the city to the least. You could spot the provincials by the way they still had a soul showing on their face. They were not looking like ghosts lost in a life they don't control anymore.

He had wandered in there, a small line of shops around one of the city's railway stations, to escape a diluvian rain tearing the sky all of a sudden, as he was walking the streets aimlessly, just for the sake of being outside, for once.  
>He had waited for the sky to clear, or the rain to at least lessen a bit so it wouldn't be stinging his face, helped by the cold January wind.<br>Since it wasn't close to end, with the darkening clouds eating at the last patches of blue, he had leant, sighing at the unwanted interruption of his promenade, against the closest pillar, beginning to observe the people around.

He observed, and this old woman slipped on the marble, just in front of a gaming store, as customers' feet had carried from outside the rain in long wet trails.  
>In the distance, he could see people pass by, not even sparing a look at the poor lady. Except for that boy he took for a teenager at first. A helping hand and the granny was on her feet again, a bright smile making sure she was fine and walking her to the nearest bench before entering the store.<br>The boy then took his shift, turning the teenager into an adult old enough to have a job.  
>The man stared, feeling lighter every second as he swallowed the features. He fell himself, but the pavement he hit was only the border of his sanity. There was no helping hand this time, because it couldn't be helped. There couldn't be an SOS because if anything, his soul was already saving itself right at that moment and it was about time, the man thought.<p>

The hood covered the man, but could never hold the soul that escaped his core that day it met his mate. He had made poor attempts at retrieving it but the chirping bird that was behind that counter back in the mall held it in hostage.

There began the breaking of all rules as the man came back every day, aware of the risks but still wanting to taste an impossible eventuality. Because he would never do it. Would never approach. Would never even say hello. And still, in his nightly mind wrecks, eyes locked with his target and the soul came back to him. Not alone.  
>In the morning, he would barely fall asleep, finally, and promise he would stop living in a movie.<br>And the afternoon would see the clapper board mark the next scene and he'd be playing that movie again, hoping for a happy end.

He'd watch the other, helping customers, working at the cashier, or simply playing, when the store was calm. How could someone smile that much? He felt even more a shadow, standing outside of the light, the rainbow that was so brightly colouring his vision moving, laughing, simply living. Sometimes, he heard his voice, a warm voice with what he defined as an American accent. The beautiful creature was not French.

The man didn't believe in destiny, in soul mates. He didn't even believe in love. He always told himself that he couldn't believe in something he had never seen. But he knew he was lying to himself. He believed in God, yet he'd never met his idol. It was just more convenient to silence his heart. You don't need one in the Mafia. Better said, you're expected _not _to have one.

He was so close, one day. The eighth day. He couldn't believe he'd done this every day without a fail, for so long. It was stupid. Probably.  
>The redhead was just leaving, his shift done, obviously. He'd been standing closer, and the other almost bumped into him. So close...<br>The man followed with his eyes as the gamer passed by a beggar, with a huge envelop in hand. From where he stood he could even read 'Urgent' on the brown paper, in red letters. Raising his hands apologetically after probing his pockets, the young man then paid for the letter in his hand at the Post Office automate nearby with what was probably the only bill in his wallet, and walked back to the beggar to offer him the change. And his bright smile.

So genuine. Caring. That was foreign to the man. Maybe that's why he craved it now. He didn't know, but he wanted the chance to talk to the redhead. It was becoming an urge, because if there was one angel on this earth, he wanted it for himself.

There was no way to start this other than the ways he was used to.  
>It took six days for God to create the world, and he rested on the seventh, but the man would have no rest until he had worked his way into the redhead's life. Or the other way around...<p>

* * *

><p>The young man looked around him. The situation was strange and yet, he couldn't bring himself to be scared now. Oh, he had been, so much he had cried, a few minutes earlier. You don't expect to be abducted after work, nowadays. Maybe it was too much gaming and unreal worlds he got buried in, maybe he was unconscious of danger, but now he just wondered what it was all about. Ok, he was scared. No need to lie to himself, but they hadn't harmed him, they had even been quite gentle. Not that he stood a chance at fighting back anyway. But it was easier to imagine there was no reason to be alarmed. It was a crazy thing, what had happened, but staying calm was better than panic, right?<p>

He had laughed at their faces when the two tall men had asked him to follow. In english, with an awful accent. Meet their boss? Where these guys out of Mafia II? Seriously...  
>Oh yes, seriously. He had not laughed long. Barely ten seconds and he had been dragged into a big black car and people around hadn't even noticed. He didn't even have the leisure to scream bloody murder.<br>The gun pointed at him was unnecessary, to his opinion. He didn't plan on jumping out of a car driving at breakneck speed. Especially after he was blindfolded. So once he finished crying, he asked questions. He didn't seem to have a say in the matter, so they could as well inform him of what was going on, why him, why like this, and who was their boss?  
>He didn't get much more out of the two men than he would have gotten out of a grave, though.<p>

He complied when he was asked to get out of the car, climb stairs and wait in that room.  
>A vast, richly furnished room. Living room, bedroom, it was all in one for what he was seeing. A suite maybe. This sole room was twice as wide as his apartment. At least he wasn't brought in a creepy basement full of rats...<p>

The huge windows gave view down on the courtyard where the car had spat him out. From above, he watched, but there was nothing that would give the place away. Just regular cobblestone, neatly cut patches of grass, topiaries... at best he could guess it was some kind of mansion. Where they still in Paris? It was likely although he wouldn't bet on it, since the drive had been quite short. He looked at his wristwatch. He went out of work only sixteen minutes ago...  
>If not Paris, it was still very close.<br>At windows level, only the immense wall encircling the building could be seen, hiding whatever was beyond that secret lair.

How long the wait? Every little noise made him start, expect someone.  
>The redhead visually detailed the room, waiting for whoever wanted to meet him since that person was obviously taking all his time. He felt even more of a prey, here at the discretion of the men's boss.<p>

Three huge windows on the same wall, a door at the far right, one at the close left, and the one facing the windows, where he had entered by. A wine red sofa, an alabaster coffee table that looked heavy as a dead cow marked the middle of the room, floating on that thick white long haired wool carpet. A mahogany desk, wood richly carved, a leather mat and what he guessed where gold fountain pens. In the far opposite, on some kind of upswept area, a monster of a bed, covered in velvet and fur, and pillows calling for a snuggle. He shivered and rubbed his arms. The room was cold, and the apparent comfort of the bed made it even more obvious.  
>His mind gave him a vision of his own skin spread on the bed. Stupid.<br>Would he die today?

The door clicked behind him and he started again. He turned around, expecting to be greeted by the face of the one that had wanted him here, but it was only one of the two men from before.  
>"My boss will meet you in a few minutes." he said politely, his stance and tone slightly contrasting with his previous behaviour. He went to the chimney and added some chunks of wood, poking the fire ad fanning the flames.<p>

So he was observed. Now that was unpleasant.

Looking around, he wondered if the room was bugged and where.

"Why does he want to meet me?" the young man tried again, barely expecting an answer, but anxious all the same.  
>"My boss has some interest in you."<br>The redhead opened wide eyes. Interest?  
>"He's a he, right?"<br>"Yes, he is."  
>"Interest like... like interest? I mean..."<br>"Like wanting you that way, yes." The older man smiled genuinely at the younger's stuttering. Himself wasn't so sure the situation was easy to handle from the redhead's point of view, so he thought it was better to let the truth sink in before he got confronted, at least. Not that his boss would hold it against him, he was allowed to. Throwing out feelers, more precisely.  
>The boss may be the boss, but it wasn't a mission, nor trying to win a market or erasing a rival gang. So it was only normal that it was done in a very unusual way.<br>"But... how do you know I'm... and what tells you I'll want him that way?"

Did he even have his word to say? Damn, he was about to be thrown as a main dish to an old fart. He could already imagine wrinkled and calloused hands all over him, fingers heavy with 24k signet rings, and a fat belly and grey hair and being forced to... yuck! An old pedophile (ok, he was legal, but his point stood) that thought his position could buy him young flesh. He was in a damn serious mess right now.  
>He looked around, trying to find an escape route.<p>

The man left.  
>It's only when he heard light, slow steps behind him that the redhead realised that one had entered when the other had left.<br>He spun around. So much for expecting an old fart.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Note:** I forgot to say it in my A/N of the first chapter, but this is going to be updated daily since I have up to chapter 5 for now and will have the rest done in the next few days._  
><em>I'd really love reviews on this fic particularly about how I managed to write in omniscient third person, and if it's not too obvious that I'm really used to write in first person POV usually. Just so I know if I fucked up or not XD<br>_  
><em>Usual shameless advertisement: join<strong> Facebook's xxbeyondxbirthdayxx PomPom Girls page<strong>! (a quick search with FB to find it ^^)_  
><em>Because there are extras in there, and I will be posting pictures to illustrate thi<em>_s fic (like how Mail's street looks like, Mihael's private mansion and such...)  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Я помню чудное мгновенье<em>  
><em>Передо мной явилась ты,<em>  
><em>Как мимолетное виденье,<em>  
><em>Как гений чистой красоты.<em>

_В томленьях грусти безнадежной,_  
><em>В тревогах шумной суeты,<em>  
><em>Звучал мне долго голос нежный<em>  
><em>И снились милые черты.<em>

_..._

_И сердце бьется в упоенье,_  
><em>И для него воскресли вновь<em>  
><em>И божество, и вдохновенье,<em>  
><em>И жизнь, и слезы, и любовь.<em>

_I just recall this wondrous instant_  
><em>You have arrived before my face<em>  
><em>A vision, fleeting in a distance,<em>  
><em>A spirit of the pure grace.<em>

_In pine of sorrow unfair,_  
><em>In worldly harassment and noise<em>  
><em>I dreamed of your beloved air<em>  
><em>And heard your quiet, gentle voice.<em>

_..._

_My heart beats on in resurrection_  
><em>It has again for what to strive:<em>  
><em>Divinity and inspiration,<em>  
><em>Life, tears, and eternal love.<em>

_**To...  
><strong>__Alexander Pushkin_

Everything in the stance told him it was said boss, standing face to him. And yet, the safe distance between them and the eyes, the expression in them, it all screamed of fear. Or at least carefulness.

"Hello." The voice was soft. Too soft, out of those thin lips lost in that angular, sharp face. English again. Did the man speak English to match the fact that Mail was obviously not a native French speaker, although only his Californian accent gave him away, since he was fluent in that language?  
>"Hel...lo..." A barely whisper. Damn. Damn! What a scar! The redhead just couldn't tear his eyes off it. The other shifted his weight, oh-so-gracefully. Uncomfortable.<p>

The boss walked, step by step, slowly, stopping before arm length as if to say he didn't mean any harm.  
>"I am Mihael." His eyes were scrutinizing the other's face, looking for what? Approval? Pardon? Or just that beautiful smile maybe?<p>

The redhead was taken aback by the presence of that person in front of him. He had wanted to be furious, to yell at him, to kick and fight to escape, because he wasn't a prostitute, or even someone you could just kidnap like this, people just don't do that!  
>But the other was nothing of an old fart, he was just a young man his age. And he looked scared.<p>

"What's your name?"  
>That's right, he hadn't replied to the other's introduction. Not that he thought he should be polite, after all. It was a rude way to meet and he didn't plan to let him get away with that.<br>"Let me go." he cut all tentative to connect. It wasn't right, and he wouldn't comply.  
>"Just leave me with a name to remember, then... you're free." the blond swept aside, freeing the way. Like if his gracious frame could block the large way to the door.<p>

The redhead stared in disbelief. Was he going to be shot in the back if he tried to reach the door?  
>He took a step forward, but his mind was already two steps ahead.<br>"Sounds like a bad line out of a romantic movie." he chuckled. Of all moments, it was probably the worst to be joking.  
>The other seemed to cringe.<p>

He realised that the blond was all too serious about that situation. Which made things even more weird. He had been genuine in those words. But who speaks like that if not someone who doesn't have a clue about reality?  
>The redhead faced the other fully, for a better trial at reading him.<br>"You would really let me go after all that? I mean, I could sue you..."  
>"You wouldn't." Now that was more like something you'd expect from someone in his position. It wasn't threatening, but very self assured. As in "You wouldn't because you know you don't want to fuck with me because the consequences would be way worst for you than for me."<br>"True. But still. Going through all that trouble to bring me here and then just giving up?"  
>"I just wanted a chance, but I can't force you into this." The hurt in his eyes just emphasized the surreality of this situation, and the redhead was confused.<p>

"Wait. I thought I was brought here for you, and now you... damn, I don't get it. A chance at what?"  
>The blond dug his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor. How could he have thought this would work. If anything, he had ruined it all. It was foolish to believe that the redhead would understand. Their worlds were not the same, and they had collided too strongly to avoid the damage.<br>It was the way he had dreamt it against the bare reality. Really, the redhead's sarcasm was in the right, he probably had believed too strongly in a happy ending to see that there was no way this would work.  
>"I'm sorry."<br>"Yeah, that's about time you apologize. But now explain. Your... employee...? said that you wanted to meet me because you had an interest in me _that _way. It's plain wrong. I mean, which planet do you come from for thinking I'd be all 'hey, ok, abduct me and jump me, it's no big deal!'"

The redhead looked furious.  
>"I believe there has been quite some misunderstanding on your part. If that was what I wanted from you, you'd be naked in my bed already. It's true that I'm interested in you, but all I wanted was to talk with you, nothing more. I wanted a chance at knowing you, and you knowing me..." The look in those steel eyes, the redhead almost felt bad for tearing apart something that seemed to hold more of a teenage dream than anything for the blond.<br>The place reeked of money, the man obviously was all power and means. How could he be so genuinely letting him the choice?

"What makes you believe I'm interested in you? In a guy I mean."  
>The blond's eyes widened slightly. The other just couldn't believe it. So far gone in that daydream of his, so high on a cloud that the thought of him being straight had never reached it.<br>That was... touching. And after all, he _was _gay. Maybe it was simply obvious?

"My name's Mail." He faced the blond, wondering why he even replied.  
>Confidence seemed to sink back into the man like a running horse, as he straightened and a faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.<br>Maybe he should have gone when he still could, Mail thought, a light shiver coursing down his spine with that now feline looking being confidently walking to the sofa and offering him to seat beside him. Don't pity the kitten, he's probably more of a panther.

He gulped and sat as far as he could, against the arm of the couch.  
>The door opened and the man from earlier entered with a tray. Perfect timing. Where are those damn bugs?<br>Mail looked around instinctively.  
>Mihael reached for a remote. "They're off." he simply said, "Coffee?" Mail nodded.<p>

The silence was awkward, as they sipped their coffee. Mail decided he couldn't take it anymore. He should already be out, far, far away from that weirdo, but he was there, having coffee with him. Better know what brought him here, after all.  
>"Why me? Have we already met before or... ? No, I would remember you..." he shook his head. Even without the scar, he would have remembered eyes like these. A shade of blue that's not totally blue, neither grey, just so clear that if not for the darker circle around the iris, they'd be almost transparent...<p>

"I've been watching you for a few days... now, that sounds creepy, I know. That was not my intention, I just... thought I could talk to you but I wasn't sure you'd want to... and it wasn't safe for me. I know it wasn't the best way to begin with this but I just did things like I'm used to. It was still a bit presumptuous to think you'd just go with the flow, I admit it."  
>"Yeah, just a bit..."<br>Mihael laughed quietly.  
>"But again, why me?"<br>"I didn't get to choose who made me feel that way... I just happened to be in that mall, I saw you and that was it."  
>"Like lovestruck or something like this?" Mail didn't want to sound like he was making fun of the other, but truth is, he found this whole thing ridiculous.<br>"Something like this, yeah." Mihael murmured. Was he... blushing?

"I didn't even notice you once..." Mail wondered how he could have missed such a face, such a scar.  
>"That's a skill I need to have with the job I do."<br>"And what is the job you do? I have a pretty good feeling that I won't like the answer though."  
>"I have a pretty good feeling that you know the answer."<br>Mail bit his lips. It was one thing to understand it implicitly, but he was scared to utter the words, or even hear them, but he needed to make sure. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought.  
>"You're some kind of..."<br>"Mafia head."  
>Mail couldn't help the cold sweat along his spine. Too late to go?<br>"You're still free to go whenever you want."  
>"Am I that obvious?" the redhead felt like if the bugs were now in his own mind.<br>"You just look really scared."  
>"So do you." Mail stated. It was true. Mafia boss or not facing him, there was something that stuck Mail here on that couch, something that forbid him to go, and it was that fear in the blond's eyes. As much as he didn't want to, he had to know everything before he passed the door. He hated incertitudes, and since he would be unable to forget what had happened today, he needed at least to understand it fully. Because maybe it was like dreams, you only get rid of them once you get an explanation.<p>

"I'm not good at dealing with people. I mean, when I'm not heading them."  
>"No shit, really?" Mail laughed out loud at the statement, "Hum, sorry, that was a bit rude." he caught up with his words, not wanting to sound too vulgar since the other seemed to use a very correct language. Quite formal even. Like someone who's not using his native language. Which would explain the accent. Where from?<p>

But Mihael's laughter echoed with his.

This was an excruciating pain he felt, with the fear of never getting anywhere, and the joy of hearing that genuine sound from Mail. The nose that scrunched up a bit as he smiled, the freckles and the dimples, it was all too beautiful to let go.

"Are you Swedish or something? I mean, I can't place your accent, and you're so... blond with blue eyes, like a typical Scandinavian guy..."  
>"Russian."<br>Somehow, it made Mihael even more scary. Swedish seemed a lot safer than Russian.

Mail wondered what he was doing here. Anyone in his right mind would have left as soon as possible. Anyone would be scared to death to be in a Mafia boss' den. Anyone would simply not have asked to know this detail. What was so wrong with him that he chose curiosity over saving his life? Damn, he didn't even think his life was threatened, which was probably a huge mistake. There was that duality in the other that didn't bode well at all. He looked frightened, unable to make this meeting go anywhere, and yet so self assured, so very powerful. He was probably playing him, and would toy with his dead body in the end.

For a brief instant, the thought of a hidden camera game touched on his mind. Yes, yes that was it! That made a lot of sense. The place was bugged after all! Why hadn't he realised earlier? Damn was he stupid to get tricked so easily!  
>"Is it a joke?"<br>Mihael looked surprised.  
>"Is it some TV game? Because if it is, then it's not funny at all, scaring the shit out of people like this."<br>"It's not a game." Mihael replied calmly.  
>"Come on, it has to be! Abduction, Mafia, bodyguards... it's too big to be true!" Mail stood up, "And if you really were a Mafia boss, you wouldn't have told me so openly!"<br>"What can I do to convince you it's not a game?" Mihael stood too, genuinely asking.  
>"I don't know... kill someone!"<br>"You're not serious." Mihael would do it if it was the only thing that could convince the redhead that it was not a game, but he also knew that giving him nightmares wasn't the best option to be convincing as the bashful lover.  
>"Totally serious. Do it." Mail was finding this quite amusing now.<p>

Mihael pushed the internal call button on the phone that was on the desk. He exchanged a few words in Russian, and looked back at Mail. The door opened a few seconds later, one of the bodyguards entering, dragging someone that was apparently a houseboy.  
>"Mail, is that really what you want?" Mihael asked a last time. He wished very hard that the redhead would say no.<br>He had no problem killing someone, but he didn't want to imprint that in an innocent mind.  
>He had had nightmares, awful ones, the first times he killed. Ones that let you no rest, that eat at your sanity, that lead you to try to forget no matter how. Mihael remembered the substances and the booze and the women and the men, and the long long years of killing that finally were the only remedy, bringing numbness where there once was remorse.<br>"Go ahead, I know it's all fake." Mail smirked.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Note:<strong> Ok, yes, I admit it, one more reason for posting this as a multichaptered fic was: cliffie galore! XD _


	3. Chapter 3

_вожделенный, желанный город._  
><em>только крыши тонкая жесть,<em>  
><em>только боль<em>  
><em>между нами,<em>  
><em>между нами и небом.<em>

_Coveted, desired city._  
><em>Only a thin tin roof,<em>  
><em>Only pain<em>  
><em>Between us,<em>  
><em>Between us and the sky.<em>

_**The City**_  
><em>Asya Shneiderman<em>

Mihael went to the desk again, and stirred a small automatic gun out of a drawer. He charged it under Mail's attentive stare, and, walking back to where Mail stood, screwing the silencer in place in the meanwhile, he aimed at the houseboy.

The boy fell on his knees, crying and speaking Russian. Mail gulped. It all sounded very real now, the gun looked like a real one, and the kid, although talking in Russian, seemed to plead and panic and... he had peed on himself.  
>Mail jumped ten miles high when the shot resounded, even if it had been muted. He thought he would faint when blood started spilling out of the wound and the boy started screaming in pain.<p>

Mihael calmly went back to put the gun at its place, after a few Russian orders. The bodyguard took the boy away, people came in a rush and soon everything was cleaned, just like if nothing had happened.  
>"You didn't kill him." It was more of a relief than an accusation.<br>"I still can if you really need it to be convinced, but I'd rather not let you witness something like that."

Mail sat back on the sofa, totally shocked.  
>"You just shot him, like this..." he shivered.<br>Mihael served some of the vodka that was on the permanent tray, on the coffee table. "Drink this".  
>Mail didn't oppose and downed the small glass in one gulp. His throat burned, but he couldn't care less right now.<br>"I asked and you shot him... damn..." Mail looked at the blond, "You're sick!"  
>"I didn't kill him." Mihael seemed totally unphased.<br>"You shot him! I don't care how or where, you lodged a bullet into a human being! That's just totally sick!"  
>"You asked me to. And I didn't kill him." Mihael didn't know how to handle that. The kid wasn't dead, he had made sure not to traumatize the redhead and still it wasn't good, "He'll be ok, don't worry."<br>"But I won't!"

Mail was on the verge of tears. "You're a monster !"  
>He couldn't stay here any longer, not with that freak that thought it was normal to shoot people in the knee just to prove something. He stood up and speeded to the door. Mihael had left his gun in the desk's drawer, it was safe, wasn't it?<br>"Wait!"  
>Mail stopped, hand on the knob. "I don't want to know you! You're totally sick! And don't come back to spy me!"<br>"At least let my men drive you back..."  
>Mail realised he didn't know where he was, and maybe, if he closed his eyes all the way,xz if it stayed that way, it was safer, they couldn't hold that against him to get rid of him?<p>

* * *

><p>Mail had called in sick at work for two days now. At some point he knew he'd have to leave his apartment, but truth was, he didn't even dare to go buy food so he had only eaten cereals for those two days. Without milk.<p>

He had been unable to sleep. Everytime he dozed off, he felt himself being watched. How do you even go back to normal life after _that_?

The next day, Mail reasoned himself and dragged his feet to the gaming store. He stayed at the counter, unable to go in the storage room or even buy his lunch at some of the fast foods around. He just stared at the door, at every customer entering, at people on the outside. But something told him that even if Mihael was spying on him, he wouldn't know. The man had been invisible until now, so it was unlikely to change. Maybe, now that he knew who to look for, he'd see him... Did he really want to?

What he saw though, was the delivery guy from the flower store four stores away from the gaming center arrive with that single white rose and a card. He ripped the envelop open as soon as it was in his hands, furious, glancing through the window, almost expecting to see the blond. But he was nowhere in sight.

The handwriting was so beautiful that Mail stared at it long, before reading the content of the card. Against his will, he pictured Mihael and the way his writing matched the person. The white shirt, black silk sleeveless vest, and neat black pants, shiny leather shoes that he had been wearing when they met. As ostentatious as the luxury of the room was, Mihael was nothing like this, in the middle of all that rich environment. He wore Armani with modesty, which was probably a difficult thing to do, Mail thought.

But he was supposed to be furious, not dwell on how good Mihael looked. What did the brat have to say, after abducting him, shooting someone in front of him, and just act as if he had done nothing bad? One single rose as an apology, when he probably could buy the whole world's production in terms of horticulture?

_Mail,  
>I probably won't be able to understand how you feel, because these are feelings I forgot long ago. But I want you to know that I'm sorry all the same. I never thought one instant that it would be so difficult to meet someone normal. You're right, I'm a monster. I can live with that. What is more difficult to live with is that I wanted things to be good, and made them really bad. So if there is anything I can do to ease the hurt I inflicted you, just ask me. I know that money can't buy everything, but that's all I have to make things better.<br>Mihael._

There was a cell phone number next to Mihael's name. As if Mail would call him. All the sick creeper could do to make things better was to forget him, to just leave him alone. Would he buy him the moon if he asked?  
>Mail chuckled. Yeah, money can't buy everything, and certainly not people. Or at least not him.<p>

Customers came in the store and he just threw the card in the trashcan under the counter, along with the rose.

On his way back home, sat in the subway, Mail turned and returned the content of the card in his mind.  
>He was mad at Mihael for remembering himself to him. Not that he had forgotten, but he didn't need a reminder when he was <em>trying <em> to forget.  
>But everything was wrong in what the blond had written. He didn't even mind to be called a monster, and admitted he had nothing else than money to offer. Damn, he was even unable to feel anything like remorse for what he'd done.<p>

Well, actually, he was. He didn't seem to acknowledge the fact that abducting someone, shooting someone, was really bad, and that was saying something about how fucked up the guy was, but he felt bad at least for making Mail run away. Maybe it wasn't remorse, just disappointment for not getting what he wanted. But then, he hadn't force Mail into it, he had let him go without trying to hold him back. He could have sequestrated him, but he didn't.

The redhead didn't know what to think. If he could just stop thinking, actually...  
>It was over! He wouldn't see Mihael anymore (he would get the message if Mail didn't contact him, right?) so it was really time to go back to normal and forget that crazy event.<br>It was out of the question to go to the Police, and even more impossible to talk about this to anyone. Mail wished he could, because somehow, he was beginning to feel that he was kind of abnormal too, to just let this happen and forget. Maybe he was preparing for years of therapy later, when after trying to forget, he would have created a big mental fuckup for himself?

But when you really try to forget, then things look like you've just dreamt them, and it was exactly what was in Mail's mind right now. It didn't even seem real anymore...

_Meet someone normal_...  
>So Mihael thought himself as being abnormal? Well, he kinda was...<br>But it was true that Mihael seemed to have no clue about dealing with ordinary people. He probably lived all clustered, surrounded by people he paid to be nice to him.

_You're right, I'm a monster. I can live with that.  
><em>Why does he live with that to begin with? People usually try to change when they consider themselves as monsters!  
>If they get a chance to change... No. Not me. I won't. This is crazy. I'm not the good Samaritan.<p>

Mail slammed the door of his apartment and drowned the thought in an enormous pizza, several beers and the game he had gotten a few days ago.  
>Not a Mafia game. Cars. Races. Crashes. That was all good.<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't right to do that. Mihael knew it. Mail hadn't contacted him, and he had known he wouldn't. He didn't resist trying to bribe Mail into making a connection, although he knew it would fail.<p>

He just couldn't give up. He didn't know why he couldn't get over it. It was digging a hole in him that seemed to swallow him from the inside like a black hole in his universe. Maybe being here today, in the exact spot where he had spied on Mail days ago, would just make him realise it was stupid to cling on a person that didn't want to hear about him, obviously. At least, he would see his beautiful face again...

Mail didn't notice, just like he hadn't before. It was convenient.

Well, that is until he left the store after his shift ended. Mihael drowned himself in the shadow of the pillar behind him, without noticing the young woman walking his way. She was looking around, lost, and Mihael was the closest to her, so, politely, she spoke to him after catching his attention:  
>"Excusez-moi, je cherche la rue du Rocher, est-ce que vous connaissez ?"<br>"A votre droite, puis il faut prendre la rue qui monte encore à droite."

The voice was kept as low as possible, speaking fast, trying to get rid of the woman, but it was still loud enough for Mail to spot the heavy Russian accent as he came closer, needing to go this way to exit the railway mall.  
>Mihael cursed under his breath and planted the woman here before she was able to thank him, trying to escape Mail's eyes, but the redhead was staring at him, looking really angry.<br>The blond walked the opposite way. Mail was totally furious. How dare he spy on him again? Running after Mihael, he grabbed his arm when he reached his level.  
>"What are you doing here?" he spat, venom in his tone.<br>"I'm going, don't worry."  
>"Oh no, you're not going anywhere! Not until you tell me WHY you're here when I made it clear I didn't want to have anything to do with you again!"<p>

Mail's eyes were sending daggers and Mihael looked like he was caving in, which stopped the redhead mid-sentence.  
>"Why can't you just..."<br>He looked at Mihael, and it made him feel like he was talking to a child, scolding him after he'd been really bad.  
>"Damn, are you gonna come here everyday hopelessly? What do you expect? Or will you abduct me again someday? Do you understand it when people say no? Do you at least understand what it feels like to know you're after me like this? It scares me, ok?"<br>Mihael was avoiding his angry look, eyes locked with his shoes tip.

Mail lit a cigarette. He was really craving throwing his fist in Mihael's face right now. But even if they were nowhere in sight, he didn't want to risk having two men in black on him the instant his fist connected to their boss' face.  
>Man, if Mihael had just come to him one day and said hello, or invited him for a drink, he may have said yes, but the guy had to do this crazy stuff he did!<br>Not that learning that he was dating a mafioso, if they had ever dated, would have been a nice thing to hear...

"Why couldn't you just pick me up like normal people do? I mean, talk to me in the street, try to seduce me at my counter, I don't know, things that people usually do when they crush on someone! Damn, I can't even begin to imagine what made you think it was ok to act like you did!"  
>"Yeah, like you would have talked to me... I would have scared you away..." Mihael was still staring at his feet, his back to the pillar, looking very, very uncomfortable.<br>"Well, if you had come to me with your two men, saying you were at the head of the Mafia, probably. But just "Hello, I'm Mihael, and I'd like to know you" would have worked, you know. But deal with it, now it's too late!"

On those words, Mail pushed Mihael's hood off his head in anger.  
>"Stop hiding there and move on damnit! No matter how hard you try to hide, I'll know you're there so don't bother."<br>Mihael's eyes widened to find himself exposed to everyone's eyes. He cringed, but it was useless. The people around stared, hard.  
>Mail was taken aback by the alarmed look in the blond's eyes, and looked around him.<br>There was shock in the passers-by's eyes. And disgust. He felt an anger of a totally different kind all of a sudden. Of course he had been shocked when he had seen Mihael's scar for the first time, but how could you react in front of something like that, that was taking a good quarter of his face, running from his forehead just under the hairline, crossing the bridge of his nose to reach the cheek and cut it in half, ending somewhere in his neck? But disgust? It was a heartless way to look at someone that had obviously suffered...

"Qu'est-ce que vous regardez?" he spat at them.  
>Passers-by scattered hastily and Mihael pulled his hood back in place.<br>"See how you were right to call me a monster?" Mihael laughed bitterly before turning around to leave.

* * *

><p><strong>Translation from french:<strong>  
><em>"Excusez-moi, je cherche la rue du Rocher, est-ce que vous connaissez ?"<em> "Excuse me, I'm looking for the 'du Rocher' street, do you know it?"  
><em>"A votre droite, puis il faut prendre la rue qui monte encore à droite."<em> "To your right, then take the street that's heading up to the right again."  
><em>"Qu'est-ce que vous regardez?"<em> "What are you staring at?"


	4. Chapter 4

_**Note:** Sorry for the lack of update yesterday but the site wouldn't let me login. JSYK, you can take a tour in Mello's private mansion through pictures posted in the FB page xxbeyondxbirthdayxx PomPomGirls (crack included) XD  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Я хотел, чтоб мы были врагами,<br>Так за что ж подарила мне ты  
>Луг с цветами и твердь со звездами<br>Всё проклятье своей красоты?_

_I wanted us to be enemies,_  
><em>So why did you present me<em>  
><em>With flowering meadows, the starry vault<em>  
><em>The curse of your beauty?<br>_  
><em><strong>To the muse<strong>_  
><em>Alexandr Blok<em>

Mail hated the explanation forming in his mind, as he watched Mihael walk away. It wasn't a matter of trying to change and getting a chance to. Mihael wouldn't change because he didn't see another way to be. In his own mind, he was a monster, people looked at him like he was one, he lived in a world where doing horrible things were normal.  
>There's no way out when you live in a world without doors. So Mihael, knowing he couldn't act normal in Mail's world, had tried to bring Mail into his own little world. Yes, it was fucked up, yet it was so sad...<p>

Mail hated even more that he didn't find Mihael when he realised that, because he was gone and nowhere in sight even after Mail chased after him. He loathed the way he ran back to the store and rummaged in the trashcan and sighed of relief when he found the card, and despised himself when he thanked God that it hadn't been cleared already.  
>And damn, how he would have slapped himself, very hard, as he waited for Mihael to pick up the call...<p>

* * *

><p>Mihael was toying with his parka zipper. Mail could feel how uneasy the other was. Damn, he couldn't even take his hood off inside the little cafe they were sat in. It was probably a great effort from the blond to be here in a public place.<p>

"Demoiselle timide?" the waiter said, winking at Mail, when he brought two cup of hot chocolate. Mail refrained his laughter but he snorted, glancing at Mihael. With only some long blond strands poking out of the hood and the thinness of his stature, there was no wonder why he'd been taken for a girl.  
>Mihael sent him a dark look before beginning to sip his chocolate.<p>

"How did you... get your scar?" Why not ask, after all. Mihael wanted to talk, when he had abducted him, so he would talk.  
>"Long story..." Not that the Mafia boss complied with the questioning, which was to be expected.<br>"Is it painful?"  
>"Not anymore, it's an old scar."<br>"No, I meant, painful to talk about it?"  
>"No... just uninteresting."<br>"Let me be judge of it."

Mihael glanced at Mail, but the redhead obviously waited for a complete answer.  
>"I stole something that some others were after, they found my hideout so I blew it out to have a chance to escape."<br>Mail nodded in silence. The scar was fully healed, but it was a deep one.  
>"How old were you?" The question wasn't innocent. For how long had Mihael been in the Mafia?<br>"I was seventeen."  
>Mail mouthed a silent 'Oh'. Shocking. At seventeen he was graduating in high school, in the US, barely wondering what he would do with his life. And Mihael was burning his face in the Mafia.<p>

He staked his all: "Did you inherit your position from your father?" That was far beyond his own little comfort zone, he was dealing with a deadly world and maybe if he knew where he was stepping, he could make his way through it without too many mistakes? Because even if Mihael looked quite tame right now, nothing said he couldn't unleash the worst if Mail fucked something up.

"No, I never knew my father. I happened to enter the Mafia around fifteen after I ran away from an abusive foster home and climbed the steps." The blond made it sound like if it was as simple as that.  
>"And how old are you? I mean, damn, you're the boss and you're probably my age. I can't even imagine how... tough you are to achieve that!" Yeah, simply shocking.<br>"I'm twenty-two. You?"  
>"Twenty-two next month." But something else had ticked his curiosity, "I never knew my father either, actually, I never knew both my parents..."<br>"Same here."

They stayed silent. This was a thing none of them expected to have in common. And this was something huge, because no one can understand an orphan better than another orphan. There's just something about it that you can't get if you never lived it.

Mail couldn't help but stare at Mihael, who seemed lost in his thoughts. He looked less intimidating today, with just regular jeans, black trainers at his feet, and this dark burgundy parka with fur around the hood. The redhead suddenly wondered if Mihael had dressed nicely just for him that day they had met.  
>He had to admit it, Mihael was really good looking, scar or not. Actually, maybe it was better that he had a scar, because he would be impossibly beautiful otherwise.<p>

Mihael caught him staring. Sadness shadowed the icy eyes and he looked down at his cup.  
>There was a lot to do... Mail wasn't sure he wanted to be the one to do it though. Pity was a good reason to help, but he didn't want to experience the backslap of helping a <em>Mafia boss<em>. Who knew what kind of problems it could bring him? Damn, he could even get arrested for being in his presence. Or shot, even.

It was getting dark outside. It was still early, Mail had left work at 3pm and it was probably around 4:30pm now. Winter days were short, and it was starting to snow.  
>"I have to go now." Mail stood up, depositing some coins on the table next to the bill, "It's snowing and I don't want to wait too long before going home because I only have my Converses and they're going to get wet..."<br>It was half true. Actually, the silence was growing uncomfortable and he needed to get away.  
>"You're not paying, at least not for me." Mihael stood up as well and pushed the coins toward Mail, stirring his own wallet out of his rear pocket.<br>Mail opened wide eyes at the thickness of the bundle poking out of said wallet. There was probably more than what he himself could earn in one month.  
>"It's fine, just leave it there." the redhead pushed the coins back in place. He still could pay for two cups of chocolate.<p>

Mail shivered as his face met the cold wind out of the cafe, as they exited. Snow began to get caught in his lashes and it was kind of unpleasant, he'd better hurry to the closest subway station.  
>He turned to Mihael, not really knowing what to say as a goodbye. He didn't even know if he wanted to see him again.<p>

Mihael only had his hood on, but he didn't wear a scarf and his front was open like if the cold had no take on him.  
>"You're gonna catch a cold." Mail said. Damn, why did he say that?<br>"I'm from Russia." Mihael half smiled, "That's barely spring to me."  
>"I'm from California and that's Siberia to me." Mail laughed.<p>

Mihael didn't move, poking the snow with the tip of his shoe, obviously waiting.  
>Mail perfectly knew that Mihael was afraid to ask, but hoped nonetheless.<br>"Let's meet at my work tomorrow, I should be off around 6pm."  
>Yeah, he wanted to see him again. Mihael hoped that he would. But he, himself, just hoped he wouldn't regret it...<p>

He looked at Mihael, ready to say goodbye before running to the station. The blond was already burying himself into his hood, a mere ghost ready to disappear in the dark. Somehow, Mail felt a pinch in his chest.  
>"See ya tomorrow." he smiled, trying to provoke the same on Mihael's face. He didn't want to have that last image of a soulless shadow in mind until the next day. There, here was the smile he expected. A shy one, but it was there. That was much better for his sleep to have a happy face in mind than this hollow expression.<p>

* * *

><p>His apartment was freezing when Mail got home. He was used to cut the heat during the time he wasn't here, just to spare some money. Living in Paris was expensive. But with the snow accumulating on the windowsill, it made everything worse in his tiny studio.<p>

Waiting for the heaters to come to life as he turned the knob, he decided for a warm bath.  
>A little while later and he was soaking in bubbles, eyes lost in the snowflakes falling silently on the other side of the little window just next to the tub. Well, maybe they made noise, who knew? No one would know, with the traffic and usual noise of the city... Maybe they cry for help before they reach the ground, and no one would ever try to save them?<br>Mail chuckled at the stupid thought.

It was so dark outside, so peaceful all of a sudden. It always did that, around 5pm, when children are finally locked home after school, their mother pestering them for bringing snow inside after they played snowball fights, when workers are still on the ring road, everything just kept silent, at least for a few minutes...  
>He was suddenly very aware that the silent snowflake that was Mihael would be very hard to hear... He wanted them to know each other, and yet he was so uncommunicative...<p>

He suddenly dreaded their next meeting. They apparently had not much to say to each other, and the one that was trying to get the other just didn't do anything for it to happen. Well, ok, technically, he had. He had spied, abducted, shot someone, spied again. But that was exactly why all of Mail's senses were screaming to just cancel tomorrow's date. Except one. One that no matter what he did, refused to be silenced.

He would cancel the date. There was no way this could work, and he didn't want to have something to do with the Mafia anyway.  
>Mail stirred his phone from the pocket of his jeans still on the floor. He had gotten a text message while he was in his bath.<br>_Thank you._  
>That's all it said. That's all Mihael had sent and yet it meant a lot. Mail typed his answer back quickly. Damn. That was not going to be good, he knew it. Then erased his message before sending it. No good at all.<p>

* * *

><p>Mihael showed up at exactly 6pm in front of the gaming store. Mail had a feeling that he had been waiting in a corner for much longer, although as usual he wasn't able to spot him.<p>

Mail cashed the last customer in line and left his place to his colleague, freshly arrived. He went to the back to fetch his jacket and exited the store. Mihael's eyes never left him once. It was so creepy...

"Hi!" He said cheerfully, as the blond glanced through his bangs, smiling, "So, what do you want to do?"  
>"Let's go to my place." Mihael offered.<br>"I don't think it's such a good idea..." the redhead was a bit reluctant at the idea of being alone with Mihael in that room again. There were guns in there, and probably a lot of other stuff he didn't want to know about. And he didn't want to be on the hunter's territory. That would be like jumping head first in the trap.  
>"Oh... I didn't mean it that way! Sorry!" Mihael was alarmed again.<br>"Hey! Just cool down! I didn't take it that way, and stop being so sorry all the time, it's fine! You have the right to make mistakes so just keep calm ok?" Mail wondered why Mihael was always so cautious and apologetic, it was that duality showing again, and he didn't really like it. "Well, except the kind of mistakes that involves abducting me or shooting people, I mean..." he mumbled, just to make sure that there would be no misunderstanding.  
>"Ok."<p>

There. The scolded child was back. It felt like teaching life to a kid. A kid that was hunched and as deep as possible in his hood as people passed by.  
>"Let's go to your place..." Mail sighed. Do you die instantly when your head's cut off?<br>"Why?" Mihael asked, surprised that the redhead changed his mind. It was strange, the way he questioned, always so directly.  
>"Because I'm pretty sure that you won't be at ease if we go to a cafe or something, and I won't get a fair idea of who you really are if you can't be yourself." That was true. Not that Mail was eager to face the trigger happy mafioso instead of the teenage-looking guy that was facing him right now. How did he even fit in those black skinny jeans?<br>Mihael turned around and, making sure Mail was following, he took the direction of the street.

And how was Mail supposed to admire those crazily blue eyes with that hood constantly on? Luckily, Mail thought, he didn't utter that aloud.

* * *

><p><strong>Translation from french:<strong>  
><em>"Demoiselle timide?"<em> "Shy lady?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Ничто! Но ты во мне сияешь  
>Величеством твоих доброт;<br>Во мне себя изображаешь,  
>Как солнце в малой капле вод.<br>Ничто!- Но жизнь я ощущаю,  
>Несытым некаким летаю<br>Всегда пареньем в высоты;  
>Тебя душа моя быть чает,<br>Вникает, мыслит, рассуждает:  
>Я есмь - конечно, есть и ты! <em>

_I'm Naught! But thou shinest through me  
>With all the splendor of your virtue;<br>Thou showest yourself through me  
>Like sun inside a tiny water drop.<br>I'm Naught! But still I can feel life,  
>Like something hungering I fly,<br>I'm always soaring high above.  
>To be with you is my soul's wish,<br>It contemplates, reflects and thinks:  
>If I exist-thou art as well. <em>

_**God**__  
><em>_Gavriil Derzhavin_

Now, Mail knew where he was. Once in the street, he had realised that the black Cadillac was waiting not far away, and this time, he had all leisure to see where they were going. It was still Paris, not that he was used to that district. He had wandered here sometimes, in his beginnings in the big city, when he wanted to discover everything. It was a gathering of embassies and private mansions, nothing like where he lived himself. It was even very disturbing to think that the Russian Mafia was nested in the middle of official buildings.

"Is it yours or do you rent it?" Mail asked, as they crossed the courtyard.  
>"It's mine. We don't rent much in the Mafia."<p>

This time, the room was warm, and Mail sighed of relief when a wave of heat washed over him. It was absolutely freezing outside.  
>Mihael got rid of his jacket, and Mail realised he was only wearing a tee-shirt under it. How did he do that?<br>Himself had a parka, a thick sweatshirt, a scarf and woollen gloves, and he could barely bear the weather. Maybe Russians had a special gene because of the harsh winters in their country?

"Warm enough?" Mihael asked, seeing Mail standing there.  
>"Yeah." the redhead deposited his jacket, gloves and scarf on the arm of the sofa and reached for the fireplace. That was nice to have a fireplace. He approached his hands and rubbed them together.<br>"I'm sure there's twice as much snow in Russia and you wouldn't even be cold there." he chuckled.  
>"Twice as much is an understatement, actually. This morning's news stated fifty-three centimeters of snow at the east of Moscow and around twenty-six degrees under zero." Mihael walked to Mail, "But it's not the same kind of cold, it's dry and like... biting. I'd feel the cold just like anyone."<p>

Coming from behind, Mihael encircled Mail with his arms, and took his hands.  
>"What are you doing?" Mail jumped and turned around.<br>"Warming you up, you look frozen."  
>"Mihael... just don't... do things like that. We're not close enough for that. Ok?"<br>Mihael looked like he wanted to say something but kept silent.  
>"It's fine Mihael, I know you didn't mean bad but it's just... not something strangers do."<br>"Ok." the blond simply replied.

Mihael hadn't thought twice before acting. He didn't really see the problem, Mail had come here after all, so there had to be something, right? But the other really seemed to have principles so he'd do with it... but it was difficult, he just wanted to be close...

He went to sit on the couch, and attacked the chocolate box that was on the coffee table. Frustration.  
>Mail just kept on staring, but decided it was better to move on and forget what had just happened. Change the subject, yeah, change the subject. Ignoring the loud thuds in his chest, he sat too, at a safe distance.<br>"By the way, how come your men were ready to pick us up? Are they always there or were you just persuaded we'd end up here?"  
>"I kind of knew it was the best option." Mihael was still looking down at the chocolate box, avoiding Mail's eyes.<br>"I get it that those chocolates are probably very good, but I hope you plan on looking at me sometimes..." Mail felt the need to lighten the mood, because it was very tensed again. It seems that it was all they managed to do, creating an atmosphere you could cut with a knife.  
>"Sorry! You want some?" Mihael handed him the box genuinely.<br>"No, it's ok, I'm not that fond of chocolate." the redhead laughed at the other's crestfallen expression.  
>"Really?" Mihael exclaimed, "I couldn't live without."<br>"I see that." Mail couldn't help but smile, looking at Mihael downing one chocolate after the other.

One of the men arrived with coffee a few minutes later, and that awkward silence came again. Mail decided it was time to make Mihael understand that he had a role to play in this.  
>"Mihael, I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but you're not really talkative, and even if I have a lot of questions, I shouldn't be the one to do the talking, you were the one who wanted me here after all."<br>"You're right. I just don't know where to begin and..."  
>"And you're afraid to make a mistake, I already got that. To make it easier for you, just know that I won't go anywhere unless I really have to go home, or you try to touch me, or unless you do your Mafia stuff, whatever it is. The rest is not important mistakes, I can understand that you don't know how to deal with people, I'm fine with that."<p>

Mihael couldn't help but think that Mail was really the angel he seemed to be. Everything about him was pure. He was understanding, emphatic, just like he had thought, the first time he had seen him.  
>Mail glanced at Mihael, that was being silent again. Damn, that look of adoration in his eyes... Mihael was really head over heels for him...<p>

"Can I ask questions about you?"  
>"Sure, go ahead. I may not reply if it's too intimate but just go ahead." Mail smiled to encourage Mihael.<br>Mihael seemed to think a few seconds.

"You said you didn't know your parents. Do you mind telling me about that?"  
>"I don't mind, actually it's pretty simple, my mother was only sixteen when she got me, she was in highschool and couldn't keep me, so I got adopted by a family but they got divorced a few months later during the adoption procedure, so the child care department cancelled my placement and I got into an orphanage. I went from foster home to foster home until I was fourteen, I was old enough to make a decision, legally speaking, so I refused to be placed again and stayed in an orphanage near Los Angeles until I was eighteen. I graduated in highschool, majored in French and decided to spend all the money I had spared with my part time job during my studies to come here in Paris. I found a job and got a long term visa to replace my short term one, and it will be one year in February that I am here."<br>"You never met your mother?"  
>"No, I don't know who she is, and I don't feel the need to. At some point I researched my father but I gave up, he was just a highschool student I think, but I realised I didn't want to know, I had built my life and I didn't need more."<p>

Mihael was lost in his thoughts once again.  
>"You said you didn't know yours either, care to tell me about that?"<br>He looked at Mail with such a sad look that the redhead regretted asking. "Don't feel forced to, if you don't want to..."  
>Mihael seemed to gather some strength, and Mail had the unpleasant feeling that he was forcing himself to talk just not to ignore the question.<br>"My father was killed before I was born, and my mother just when I was born." he stopped.  
>"Mihael, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."<br>Mihael looked at Mail and shook his head, "I was raised in a crappy orphanage, and got never adopted because there was a rumour that my parents had been killed by the Mafia so no one ever wanted me, they were scared."  
>He stood up and walked to the window.<br>"When I was fifteen I ran away from the foster home I was in, because they treated us so bad. I barely survived in the streets, stealing here and there, and one day I got caught by a group of men and they led me to an old pervert who was actually a caïd in the Mafia. He tried to... you know... I killed him, I took his gun and I killed him. When his men came in, I just acted to save my life, I told them that he was the one that killed my parents, and that they would end up the same if they tried anything against me. I secured my position as much I could and little by little I climbed the steps in the Mafia and when the boss chose his successor, well, I was there..."

Mail was in shock. It wasn't the Mafia story itself, this, he had somehow acknowledged against his will, but damn, what Mihael had done! It's just madness to be forced to do that as a kid!  
>"I'm pretty amazed."<br>Mihael turned around, looking surprised. "I would have expected shocked, or disgusted..."  
>"No, simply amazed at how strong you are. You know, I'd probably would have let the old pervert abuse me, if I had ever ran away from the foster home to begin with... I'm not even sure of that."<br>"You just never had to save your life. There are resources in each of us that we only discover when we need them."  
>"How does it feel to kill someone?" Why did he ask that? Mail was about to take back his words but Mihael forestalled him.<br>"Pray you never have to know." the blond whispered.  
>Mail's chest constricted really, really painfully, hearing that.<p>

"Are you hungry?" Mihael asked, as the clock rang 8pm.  
>"Yeah, I should probably go home now."<br>"No! I mean... if you need to, ok, but I can have food brought here if you want."  
>"I don't want to be a burden..."<br>"Mail, don't be stupid, you perfectly know I hope for you to stay."  
>"I know." Mail actually didn't mind staying. The conversation had taken a very serious turn but the more he learnt about Mihael, the more questions he had.<br>"What do you like? Sushi? Pizza? Something more elaborated?"  
>"Sushi is fine."<p>

They ate, the food arriving so fast that Mail couldn't help but think that it would be really convenient to have his pizzas delivered in that same short amount of time instead of being forced to wait at least thirty minutes with a growling stomach. Being in the Mafia had good sides, if you like pizzas more than you fear to be killed...  
>Small talk barely interrupted the cracking fire, which noise was the only thing preventing the atmosphere to be dead silent. But Mail was strangely getting used to it, it didn't feel that awkward anymore, it was probably just how it was like to be in presence of someone shy. Or secretive.<p>

He hadn't really closed in on Mihael. If you just looked at him on random actions since the beginning, he looked simply shy. But there was much more to it and Mail was sure of that. Mihael wasn't withholding informations, he had freely admitted to be at the head of the Mafia, and even reluctantly, he had explained how he got there. He wasn't ashamed of killing people, of being who he was. He told it himself, he could live with what he was.  
>So, what was it? Not that Mail would ask. The answer could be biased, and it was better to discover by himself. It wasn't only the fear of making mistakes. First, Mail had reassured him about that point, and second, Mihael was starting to understand the does and donts of this situation.<p>

But there was one thing he needed to know, and would ask right away.  
>"Have you ever dated someone?" Mail couldn't be more straightforward than that.<br>The question was simple and yet Mihael didn't look like he understood, staring at Mail like he couldn't chose the right answer.  
>"You haven't?" Mail added, "Never met the same guy several times to go out, or been in love or something?"<br>"Oh. I... had people provided to me..." the blond was suddenly very aware of his own reality. It wasn't a field he wanted to have Mail explore, because it just wasn't beautiful. One more thing he lived with, but it was clearly not advantaging his image.  
>Mail opened wide eyes, understanding what was implied in this.<br>"I never met the same person twice, and it was just sexual. It's the Mafia, sex comes and goes, just like the rest."

Mail stayed thoughtful a few seconds. Why couldn't he find this disgusting? It wasn't only because being in the Mafia was probably some kind of fucked up mitigating circumstance for doing illegal or dirty stuff. The fact that Mihael openly admitted he had never met the same person twice, on an intimate level (well, it was only a sexual intimacy, nothing that could be called a relationship in the true sense of it) meant that he actually never knew of the good sides of intimacy, when intimacy _isn't_solely on a sexual aspect. No bonding, no trust, no love?

"I understand." And God knew Mail didn't want to understand.  
>And Mihael knew that Mail's feathers were just growing a little bit more at that instant...<p>

"You?"  
>Mail wasn't the kind to brag about his love life, but truth was, it was a bit crowded lately. He was asked out on a regular basis, and accepted, on a regular basis too.<br>"I had my fair share of boyfriends, but except one that I was in love with, it was just occasional dates or little crushes."  
>"I'm pretty sure there's a waiting line for you..." Mihael smiled, "I've seen how people look at you, girls and guys alike."<p>

Mail shifted uncomfortably. He didn't need to be reminded that Mihael was that creepy stalker.  
>"Why did you break up with the one you were in love with?"<br>There, outright. Insensitive, even. Fortunately, Mail wasn't in love with that person anymore, so it was no big deal, but if he had been still, it was a very ungentle way to bring the topic. He didn't know if he hated the insensitivity more than he liked the straightforwardness.  
>"I wasn't supposed to stay that long in France, actually, and I had a boyfriend in LA. But after a few months he mailed me that he had found someone else, end of the story. I forgot about him with time, I liked him a lot but it's life, I guess."<br>"Good."  
>"Good?" Good that he had forgotten, Mail guessed. But no, count on Mihael to be honest.<br>"Good that you're not with him anymore. Good for me I mean." He smiled at the redhead, and it was so genuine that Mail could just laugh. Bulldozer-like honest.

And at that precise moment, Mail remembered that he was supposed to go to the cinema the next day with that cute guy that worked at the florist near the gaming store. And that he had bought a box of condoms for that special occasion because the guy was kinda hot.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note:** Ok, I know I didn't update yesterday, and today was going to be the same. FF just doesn't let me log in! I hope that it's fine now, it's the second time it does that since last week. Next chapter will come later today, just need to proof read it (if I can login that is...)

* * *

><p><em>В крови горит огонь желанья,<em>  
><em>Душа тобой уязвлена,<em>  
><em>Лобзай меня: твои лобзанья<em>  
><em>Мне слаще мирра и вина.<em>  
><em>Склонись ко мне главою нежной,<em>  
><em>И да почию безмятежный,<em>  
><em>Пока дохнет веселый день<em>  
><em>И двигнется ночная тень.<em>

_My blood is blazing with desire._  
><em>My stricken soul for you does pine.<em>  
><em>Oh, kiss me now! Your kisses' fire <em>  
><em>Is sweeter far than myrrh and wine.<em>  
><em>Incline your head to me but softly<em>  
><em>And tamed, I'll linger with you calmly<em>  
><em>Until the cheerful light of day<em>  
><em>Chases the gloom of night away.<em>

_**My blood is blazing with desire**_  
><em>Alexander Pushkin <em>

Mail felt a bit guilty as the Cadillac drove him back home. The evening had been quite nice, even if Mihael had a lot of difficulties to sustain a conversation, often falling in that mutism of his. The redhead had had a hard time making up an excuse not to meet him the next day.

Mail wasn't exactly feeling guilty for not meeting Mihael, because he had a life and Mihael wasn't the center of it, even if obviously the opposite was.  
>Mihael had looked a bit sad, nothing abnormal to the redhead's opinion, because he probably expected him to come again and was disappointed. It's only when Mail had given him the reason, a fake one that is, that Mihael's look changed. The sadness was suddenly very different, and as Mail expected him to try to convince him to find at least a few moments to visit, the blond just became silent, eyes averted from him.<p>

It's only when Mail left and said goodbye, walking to the car, that he saw anger in Mihael's eyes.  
>Maybe he was feeling guilty for lying, after all, telling him the truth would probably have led Mihael to understand that it was hopeless?<p>

* * *

><p>Things had quickly heated during the movie. What was better than having you tongue shoved down a cutie's throat to forget a stalkish bashful lover?<p>

For some reason, Mail couldn't help but check around for Mihael. He really hoped the blond wouldn't follow today, because obviously, the lie would be discovered. But Mail was supposed to make the inventory at work until late in the evening so there was no reason for that to happen.

And it didn't happen, to Mail's relief. There was still a chance that he hadn't spotted Mihael, with the man's ability to drown in shadows, but he imagined that Mihael, seeing him with another guy, would somehow have taken action in a way or another. No shooting hopefully...

Mail and his date ended up in a café after the movie, and the redhead enjoyed the talk a lot. The florist was an amazing guy. He had travelled in a lot of countries, he could speak not less than seven languages, and had spent two years in Ethiopia to help build wells in different villages.

Unfortunately, things didn't heat as much as Mail would have liked them to. Well, it wasn't so bad, the florist was a nice guy, and they'd meet again. Mail didn't see an objection to have him as a boyfriend, he was handsome, intelligent and funny, sex would come later... even if he would rather have cut out at some stops to get to it directly.  
>Mail wasn't the type to sleep around but well, he hadn't gotten laid for weeks and he had needs, the usual motto...<br>The date had to leave for a family dinner so Mail got home alone.

He microwaved some food and settled in front of TV.  
>The food swallowed, he glanced at the clock. Well, it was almost the time he was supposed to be home after work, according to the lie he had made up for Mihael... Everything had gone well, no stalking, no weird Mafia stuff, maybe he could go on with his life without feeling observed all the time, after all.<p>

His phone beeped a text message as he was beginning to pleasure himself. Mail didn't even need to check to know who it was. But the thought just cut him straight in what he was doing, making it impossible to focus.  
>Damn Mihael... Mail grabbed his phone and checked the message.<br>_Open your door._  
>No, he hadn't...?<br>Mail readjusted himself, cursing. Hello creeper. This time it was enough, Mail didn't want to deal with that and he wouldn't anymore.

"Mihael, what the fuck do you want from me?" Mail opened the door violently, almost yelling at the blond who was, as he expected, on his doorstep.  
>Mihael entered, not even waiting for an invitation, and turned around, facing Mail. He looked perfectly calm, his walking slow, hands in his pockets. But the look in his eyes made Mail suddenly extremely scared.<br>"How was your inventory?" Mihael said, a bit too innocently for it to be natural.  
>"Do you think you can show up anytime like this?" Mail was feeling his resolution go weak. This stare on him was all but reassuring. It wasn't a mean stare in any way, and it was precisely because he couldn't identify that feeling in the blond's eyes that he was dreading it. It was nothing good, that's all he could tell.<p>

Mihael's eyes trailed around the room, taking the place in, then stopped on Mail again.  
>"How was your inventory?" He asked again. Damn, was he listening at least?<br>Mail stared back. It was kind of unnerving not to be able to read the blond. He never acted like normal people do, so Mail never knew what he was thinking, or what to expect.  
>That's when he realised how an answer to a specific question is conditioned by what we think the other wants to hear, or the reaction the other will have to what we reply.<br>With Mihael, it was impossible. Mihael kind of forced Mail to tell things as they were, with no second thought.

"Was your inventory a good kisser?" Mihael suddenly attacked. The slight change in his stance made Mail understand immediately the mistake he had just made.  
>It wasn't about making up a lie yesterday, or seeing another guy. It wasn't that, that was wounding Mihael up right now. Mihael had just given Mail a chance to admit his lie, a second chance even. And Mail had fucked up.<br>It didn't lessen to the slightest the anger that Mail felt for being stalked once more, and followed to his apartment, even. It was even more setting him off to think that he obviously wouldn't have a life anymore with someone like Mihael on his heels all the time. And it wasn't fair.

"I know you hate me for being here, but I'm used to deal with problems as soon as possible."  
>It was even more unnerving to see Mihael guess through him, Mail thought.<br>"Oh, I'm surprised you didn't jump at my throat in the cinema, or shoot my date straight away!"  
>"I had the decency to wait for your date to be over. But I won't sleep on it."<br>"So I have to accept you coming here to deal with a problem YOU have with me? That's not how it works Mihael. We're not a couple, we're not even friends, and I owe you nothing. You can sleep on whatever you want, it's over now, out."

Mail reopened the door. This was the end of the story. He was unable to make Mihael understand it was not going anywhere, but he would throw him out before he punched him. He had never met someone that just couldn't tell when he was going too far. That was getting on his nerves so much that all he could think about at that moment was to hit something, or someone, preferably Mihael since he was the source of that confusion and annoyance.

"Out." he repeated, as Mihael stood there, silent, looking down at the carpet. But the blond didn't move.  
>Mail went to him and pulled him by the arm. He was unable to make Mihael move an inch, and Mihael's head shot up. Mail immediately let go of his arm. Damn, those eyes... Tears were pooling in them, and this, Mail couldn't take it.<p>

Mail suddenly got the answer to his question. That was precisely why Mihael didn't let go, his mouth told the blond to give up, when his body language hesitated. Maybe he couldn't read Mihael, but Mihael could read him very well, and had proven so from the beginning.

"Mihael, don't do that..." Mail was feeling himself falter. It did something to him to see Mihael cry.  
>"I don't care that you lied to me, because I can understand why you did, I've not really been easy to cope with so I guess it's my fault... I just don't know how to deal with what I'm feeling now... I just wanted your help... just... explain to me..."<br>"If you told me what you are feeling to begin with?" Mail closed the door, sighing.  
>After the scolding, he would now have to comfort the kid that was Mihael.<br>"I don't know... I never had to deal with that, so I don't know... it just... hurts." Mihael was looking down again, and he looked so broken. Maybe Mail had made a bigger mistake than he thought by lying to him...

It was touching him very deeply now, to see the blond come to him because what he felt was too much for him to take. He had never come here to confront Mail or blame him. If anything, Mihael blamed himself for Mail's faults.

"Mihael, I'm probably not the angel you think I am... As I see it now, you're purer than anyone from this world you don't seem to understand. We're all very prompt to ask for honesty and respect, yet we barely give them in return. I'm sorry that I lied to you, I shouldn't have. I didn't want you to interfere, or simply spy on my date and me, I didn't even take into account the fact that because you're in love with me, it would hurt you if you knew. I mean, of all reasons to lie to you, at no moment I cared for your feelings, and for that reason, I feel awful."

Mihael looked up at Mail.  
>"You're so different Mihael, I've never met someone as clueless as you toward human feelings, it's like you lived your whole life locked away from reality. It's a bit scary, but at the same time now I understand why you're so shy sometimes. I was looking at you so much like a Mafia boss, kind of cold and calculating, or someone barely human because of your difference, that I treated you like the monster you think you are in the end. I'm... sorry. I don't know what more to say except that I'm truly sorry."<p>

Mail walked to the couch and sat, inviting Mihael to do the same.  
>The blond kept silent. At that point, he was on a wire, way up in the air, ready to shatter on the pavement. He had never felt this way, and he was just hoping that there was a way to erase the pain quickly, because it was just too much for him...<p>

"I can't ease your pain Mihael, because I can't give you what you want. It's too complicated."  
>"You make it complicated."<br>Mail chuckled. Really, Mihael was childish, he almost expected him to pout.  
>"Why don't you just see past the façade, Mail? It can't be more difficult to love me than it is to love someone that gave you a fake preview. At least my own façade isn't a lie, so you can expect the inside to be as real as the rest..."<br>"What do you mean?" Mail didn't quite get what Mihael was talking about, his sentence was a bit confusing.  
>"You thought I was lying to you when I told you I was heading the Mafia, you even asked me if it was a hidden camera game, you got me to shoot... whatever... and you just took what your date told you for granted? No doubting?"<p>

Now Mihael was surprised. So-called normal people were so quick to swallow lies, it was crazy. He always checked what people told him, for obvious reasons in the Mafia, but really, everyone should do the same, maybe people would be more honest this way...

"Why would I... Oh..." Mail suddenly understood, "Mihael, past the fact that you obviously spied my conversation with that guy, and that you verified what he told me, which itself doesn't even surprise me, you're telling me that he lied to me?" Mail was furious. The florist had taken him for a fool and he would pay for that, "I guess it's useless to ask you how you know, you probably have more means than I can imagine..."  
>Mail didn't even doubt Mihael. There was one thing that he could credit the blond for, and it was honesty.<p>

"I didn't spy. I knew that you were lying yesterday so I just checked what it was that you were doing. Not more than ten minutes actually, I heard you talk with that person, saw you kiss him, then I left."  
>"And you even admit it... you're totally fucked up, you know that?" Mail didn't like it, but he could only acknowledge now why there had been anger in Mihael's eyes the day before. Mihael had known straight away that he was lying to him. Talk about reading him...<br>"I'll admit anything as long as it's the truth, Mail. What is so fucked up about telling the truth?".

Mihael was right, after all...

"And what if I want to date that guy anyway?" He asked, perfectly knowing that he wouldn't.  
>"I'm playing fair with you, but I will make sure whoever is in my way plays fair too."<br>"And why? To even the chances, or because your noble heart doesn't want me to be abused?" Mail chuckled bitterly.  
>"If evening the chances means letting you know that your date can't speak seven languages, has never travelled further than Spain thus has never helped anyone in Ethiopia, then no, that's not the case. I wasn't trying to put that person on the same level as me, I can speak nine languages and travelled in more countries than I can name, thank you."<br>Mail couldn't help but burst into laughter, hearing that.

"I can't believe I got fooled like this, I mean, now that I think of it, it was too good to be true... maybe it's because I met a Mafia boss a few days ago, it was already so much to take that everything looks tiny compared to that." Mail winked at Mihael, who smiled weakly., "Damn, the bastard's gonna hear about me for sure."  
>"Can I help?" Mihael offered.<br>"NO! I mean... no, just don't do anything ok?" Mail could only imagine what Mihael would do to the guy.  
>"Ok ok, don't get so worked up! I was more thinking about blackmailing the guy, no shooting, promise."<br>"I never know with you... but it's ok, no blackmail either, nothing." Mail found that quite funny in the end.

"And to think I had planned to get laid very soon..." Mail sighed, looking at the snow falling by the window, as they were sipping beers, the TV sound barely audible, images casting light in the dark apartment.  
>"This is another problem I could solve." Mihael said in the most serious tone, before Mail could realise what he'd just said.<br>"No, I'd rather not..." Mail chuckled.  
>"Ok..." Mihael whispered. He went back into mutism, looking at his hands.<br>"What's going on in your mind Mihael? Talk to me." But no sound came from the blond, he kept silent, not wanting to look at Mail.  
>He shook his head, then stood up.<br>"I'll leave now..."

And indeed, in a few seconds he was buried in his hood again, and gone.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Note:** Here's the ending my dear Valentines! Just in time, it's 10 for midnight here in France! I couldn't login again and kept on trying while watching TV XD (Million Dollars Baby BTW, probably the 12th time I see it but it's an amazing movie). And this time no Russian poetry as a prologue to the chapter, but the beautiful song from which the title of the fic comes from.  
><em>  
><em>I love you all for following me, for long, for short, it doesn't matter, as long as you're here! If it was only for writing, I wouldn't be posting on FF actually, because I don't need that to write. But the sharing, your kind private messages, the wonderful people I have met and the friends I made, this is why I post here. It's amazing to be able to make you feel things through my writing, I know that you cried with me sometimes, laughed with me too, and I love being here because of how great you are. Я люблю тебя<em>

* * *

><p><em>You came out of the night<em>  
><em>Wearing a mask in white colour<em>  
><em>My eyes were shining on the wine<em>  
><em>And your aura<em>  
><em>All in order, we move into the boudoir<em>  
><em>But too soon, the morning has resumed<em>  
><em><br>__I'm hanging on the Old Goose Moon_  
><em>You look like an angel<em>  
><em>Sleeping it off at a station<em>  
><em>Were you only passing through?<em>  
><em>I'm dying for you just to touch me<em>  
><em>And feel all the energy rushing right up-a-me<em>  
><em>L'amour looks something like you<em>

_The thoughts of you sends me shivery_  
><em>I'm dressed in lace sailing down a black reverie<em>  
><em>My heart is thrown to the pebbles<em>  
><em>And the boatmen<em>  
><em>All the time I find I'm living in that evening<em>  
><em>With that feeling of sticky love inside<em>

_**L'amour looks something like you**_  
><em>Kate Bush<em>

Mail exited the subway station, looking around to find his way. This snow would never end it seemed, making everything white and alike. It took him half an hour of turning around and going back on his tracks to finally find Mihael's place.

He hadn't held him back when he had left the evening before, he was gone too fast, and Mail didn't even know why he had left so quickly. Mail's night had been a long insomnia, then nightmares, when he could finally sleep.  
>His calls hadn't been picked up. His text messages never replied to. What was wrong? Mail was a bit scared that something happened to Mihael on his way back.<p>

He pushed the call button. This was intimidating, this big mansion, the huge carriage door, the high façade... and it seemed like hours before anyone replied.  
>How should he introduce himself?<br>When the voice in the interphone resounded, he all but stuttered about being a friend of Mihael, and gave his name.  
>Mail clearly heard the click of the interphone being cut, and then nothing.<p>

At some point, Mail really wondered if someone would open, or if he would be shot or something. All he knew was that maybe he had had a chance to get rid of Mihael for good, and he was there wanting to talk to him. Who was fucked up now?

The huge door finally opened in a creaking sound, making Mail start. His feet were getting numb because of the cold and he was trying not to think of it, watching the seconds tick the few minutes past 1pm.  
>He had never seen the man who was standing in the doorway, motioning him to enter. It wasn't one of Mihael's men.<p>

Mail was led into the mansion, but before he could go further than the hall, another man frisked him completely. That was a bit weird to the redhead, but he complied. He didn't have much choice anyway.  
>He followed the first one up the stairs to Mihael's room. The mansion was so huge, why did Mihael live in that room only? There was even a bed in it, when there was probably a lot of free bedrooms everywhere.<p>

"Wait here." The man ordered with a Russian accent even thicker than Mihael's.  
>Mail stood planted in the corridor, mere inches from the door to Mihael's room, trying not to move too much.<p>

Damn, if only there was a chair, at least... Mail was tired of waiting. Was Mihael here or not? They wouldn't let him wait for nothing, right? It had been almost half an hour since he had been asked to wait in that corridor, and there wasn't anyone in sight whom he could ask what was going on.

Suddenly, voices rose from the end of the corridor opposite to where Mail had come from. More precisely one was more than obviously yelling at another, the tone of the second clearly apologetic. The sound was coming his way, and he felt trapped like an animal. Should he run downstairs?  
>But one of the voices was now identified, as it came nearer: Mihael. He was speaking, or better said, shouting in Russian, and damn, he sounded pretty angry.<p>

Then, the sound of steps approaching, the blond appeared, and Mail realised that he looked as angry as he sounded. And it was terrible. Mail could feel himself shake slightly.  
>His face immediately softened at Mail's sight, and he dismissed the man, one of his usual underlings, with an impatient sign of the hand.<br>He opened the door to his room, waited for Mail to enter, and closed it behind them. He gave a few orders in the internal phone on the desk and focused back on Mail.

Mail was very, very uneasy. Mihael was dressed in a similar style as the first time they had met and it was even more intimidating. Sexy as hell but intimidating.

The silence itself was intimidating. And it dawned on Mail that the situation had inverted. He was the one searching after Mihael, worrying and now being scared. Funny... well, not so much but weird at least.

Mihael was observing Mail. He suddenly went to one of the backdoors. "I'll be right back."  
>Two minutes later, he was back, wearing simple dark blue jeans and a black tee shirt.<p>

"You see through me, it's really scary." Mail chuckled, relieved to have a way less frightening Mihael in front of him.  
>The blond smiled, and waited for the man that was bringing a tray to exit to reply.<br>"I need to see through people to do what I do."  
>"I guess so. No wonder why you're the boss." Mail couldn't help it, being in the presence of a Mafia boss was not something he really wanted, but he had to admire the person and the skills, at least.<p>

"Well, then, maybe you can tell me what I'm doing here, I don't even know myself..." Mail smirked.  
>"You suddenly discovered that you're madly in love with me?" Mihael's smile was playful.<br>"Let's say that I was a bit worried, you left so fast yesterday, I don't even know why, and you didn't pick up my calls..."  
>"That's a beginning." Mihael's smile widened.<p>

Mail wasn't so worried that Mihael got his hopes up, this time.

"Tea?"  
>"That's the typical Russian tea?" Mail asked, seeing the samovar.<br>"Yes. Straight from Moscow."  
>"Just like you."<p>

Mihael laughed. "I'm sorry for the wait, and for not picking up your calls. I had a very important meeting early this morning and it lasted for hours, I thought we would never get to an agreement."

"And to think I was imagining that you were dying on the pavement somewhere under the snow..." Mail chuckled.  
>"So you worried for me... I think it can make my day."<br>"Why were you so angry a little earlier?"  
>"I asked them to let you wait here, inside, and not in the corridor. The persons I was having a meeting with could have seen you, and it wasn't safe."<br>"Oh, ok... You really scared me you know... actually, I think I like the shy version of you better, even if you're not really talkative." Mail grinned, making Mihael laugh again.  
>"I'm sorry, I don't think I'll be shy anymore."<br>"Oh? Why? The shy button doesn't work anymore? Did I break something?" the redhead joked. Maybe he would get to know Mihael better now?  
>"Yeah... my heart."<p>

Mail gulped. He didn't expect that.  
>"Explain." was all he could reply. He didn't get why being shy and a broken heart were related but since Mihael never reacted like anyone else...<br>"I was so afraid not to make mistakes that I was cautious... what you took for shyness. I was so cautious about you, trying not to do you wrong, that I forgot that I could get hurt too. But I had never experienced a broken heart... I didn't know how to solve that problem, I admit it, it was stupid to come to you... but I had no one to help me except you... It's not help I could ask from my men." Mihael chuckled sadly.  
>"I'm sorry... I hadn't realised." Mail felt his heart tighten, "I'm supposed to understand those feelings better, you're supposed to be the one who's clueless. But in the end, you read me like an open book when I can't guess a single thought of yours. You're totally true, straightforward, and still I don't get you, and no matter what lies I tell you, you know where the truth is."<p>

Mail seemed to think for a while.  
>"You know, I see you like you're apart, watching us supposed normal people evolve, and you see how we lie to each other, how we try to impress, how fake we are. And, at least for myself, I was so caught in trying to understand you with the prejudices I had, that it was impossible to see you, really see you I mean..." Mail drank a few gulps of his tea, obviously trying to find his words, "I've seen a picture once, it was a huge panel of letters that said <em>'replace fear of the unknown with curiosity'<em>and it's funny how we always think we understand that kind of statements, but really, we don't until we have to face a related situation. Trying to know you with the barriers of my fears led me nowhere, so I think I'm gonna stop doing what I always do, and start to act like you. Instead of trying to guess, taking steps one by one carefully, I'll just ask you things directly. It's even more stupid from me that I didn't realise that earlier, since you never lie, and will always reply honestly, no matter how hard the truth is."

Mihael seemed to relax a bit. He drank some tea too, not really knowing if this was going to be good or not. Well, as long as Mail didn't ask about Mafia stuff, it should be ok.

"Why did you run away yesterday? Is it something I said?" Mail began.  
>Mihael looked very uneasy, but since he was cornered, he had to reply. "It's... I was afraid of myself. I told you before, I don't know how to deal with those feelings, and I was hurting so much that I was afraid to make a bigger mistake. I... know I'm not really nice to look at, with that scar and all, but I wanted to convince you, because I know you're the one for me, but I also know that sometimes, people fail to find each other, even when they're destined..."<p>

Mihael stood up and went to the window. His voice had trembled on the last words and he didn't want to start crying again.

"You were afraid to rape me or something?" No doubt that Mihael was strong enough to do that, Mail thought.  
>"NO! Of course not... I... thought that if I could kiss you, just once, you'd understand... I'm sorry it's stupid... I probably live in a fairy tale." Mihael laughed bitterly.<p>

Mail stood up from the couch. He didn't move, trying to understand why it had taken so long. Layers of prejudices and misunderstandings had covered the one thing that had forbidden him to run away completely. Misconceptions over wrong ideas other distorted impressions, with a pinch, a big one, of fear, had totally annihilated the one thing he should have followed from the beginning: instinct.

And instinct was telling him one thing now: Mihael was the one.

He walked to him, turned him around so the blond would face him, and grabbed his face between his palms. Mihael looked at him, surprised.  
>"Then it wouldn't be a fairy tale if it didn't end well, would it?"<br>Softly, Mail kissed Mihael. His instinct was screaming now, screaming to scare his thinking process away. No more thinking, no more analysing. Just reality. Because if someone had been in denial of reality, it was him, not Mihael.

"And, one more thing Mihael, you're beautiful. Stunningly beautiful..." Mail brushed his lips against Mihael's scarred skin, depositing soft pecks on the irregular area, "I didn't need one kiss to be convinced that you're the one who's made for me, but try anyway." he smirked.

Mihael chuckled and grabbed Mail roughly, deepening the kiss, making the redhead's knees buckle under him. He broke the kiss, a playful look in his eyes. "So, now we need to get married and have a lot of children?"  
>Mail held Mihael tighter, feeling his warm body spread heat in him. "Can we try the children part first?"<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Note<strong>: yep, no lemon. I just felt like it didn't fit in the fairy tale. _


End file.
